Meetings of Fate
by Orodruin
Summary: It was through some cruel twist of fate that they met for the first time. Sometimes he wonders if he had always been mad, or if that was where his decent to insanity began. Rated for violence.
1. The Strongest Man

Disclaimer: Even after standing all day in the rain, just to enter into negotiations with Kishimoto, the moment he heard my proposal, he had seceruty remove me. Thus, it remains that I do not own Naruto.

Another rabid plot-bunny outside of my usual work attacked me just today. I have no idea what inspired it, but it seems like an interesting plot line that I don't think anyone has used before. Let me know what you think. It's the first time I've written this particular character, so I'm interested to see what people think of how I've portrayed his childhood... as little of it as can be see here. The tense is also different... I'm not sure if I like writing in present tense, but this story seemed to demand it of me. Go figure.

Warning: Violence, mild spoilers through current manga chapters. (Chapter 388)

Meetings of Fate

_R. Winters_

The eight-year-old takes a shaking step backwards, wide eyes taking in the carnage around him.

Sensei lay sprawled on the ground at the base of a large tree. The wide puddle of blood around him, and the unnatural hanging of his head, were testament to his death.

The boy rips his eyes away to stare at the second form, possibly even more horrible than the first. The brown haired boy—he'd known him for only four months—was collapsed in a heap, his arm on the other side of the clearing and his neck nearly severed completely. There wasn't as much blood around him, but only because it painted the entire clearing.

Again, the boy tears his eyes away. The girl's hair is matted with blood—usually it's blonde, so light that it's nearly white. Her shoulders moved slightly with shallow, shaking breaths. How long before they, too, stopped? The rings protruding from her back guaranteed that it wouldn't be long.

A dry laugh issues from the only other figure still standing and the boy's eyes immediately snap towards him, wide and fearful.

The stranger has a familiar resemblance, although the boy knows he's never seen him before. It's only that he shares similar features with his great uncle; his dark hair falling in long, ragged spikes around his pale face. His eyes are horrible and the boy tries not to look at them, but finds himself staring despite it.

They're the red and black of the Sharingan, but in a pattern he's never seen before, like the cogs of a wheel. They're cold and cruel and just the sight of them causes the boy to shiver in dread.

"Well?" The voice is a smooth baritone, and if he weren't so terrified, it would have even sounded pleasant. But with the memory of how the man had appeared, decimating his entire team as though they were nothing, keeps him from feeling any comfort in it.

"What are you going to do?" The man asks, and the boy wonders if he is really being given a choice. "Run," he urges, "Like the pathetic weakling you are."

The boy's hands curl into fists and he doesn't move. He's not sure if he can move. His arms are shaking so much that he's afraid they'll fall off and his legs are heavy beneath him. Instead he stares at the frightening eyes with his own wide, black orbs.

"W-why?" He manages to choke out, unable to understand what is happening.

The man makes a flippant gesture—shrugging a misplaced spike of hair off of his shoulder. He grins—the boy hadn't realized his expression could become any scarier. "Let's just say… I've had a bad day."

The boy can't quite wrap his mind around this concept. Sure, he'd had bad days—a lot of them since that whining infant came to live with them—but to kill a party of strangers simply because of something like that? How could anyone be so heartless?

"If you won't run," the man interrupts his thoughts again and his voice lowers a notch before he finishes, "I'll kill you here."

The boy shivers again—he can see his death in those terrible red eyes and he knows the man will go through with it. Whatever caused him to spare him in the initial slaughter, it obviously isn't anything like affection.

He still can't find the strength to move, and he doubts it would matter if he could. This man… he was so powerful that he'd be able to kill him in a heartbeat, even if he tried to get away.

The frightened voice of his teacher, shouting for him and his teammates to get out of here, echoes through his mind. Sensei had sensed the man coming a second before he appeared, and the impossible fear in his voice had been the first sign of trouble to the three Genin. Of course, they hadn't had time to run.

He found it difficult to believe that his teacher was dead. Sensei was the strongest person he'd ever met—possibly even stronger than his father—for him to have been killed like that… so easily… it was unbelievable. Unacceptable.

These thoughts flash through the young boy's mind and before he realizes what was happening, the stranger had disappeared in a blur of motion. Only then does he find the strength to move, all at once.

His body reacts to his commands instantly—he wasn't called a prodigy for nothing. A flash of light, glistening off a blade, was all that warned him of the impending attack.

There's a loud crash as metal meets metal and pain lances up the boy's arms at the force of the impact. He grits his teeth and narrows his eyes, forcing his arms to remain stiff and hold the threatening kunai at bay.

With a sharp movement of his wrists, the boy breaks the lock of weapons, knocking the man's hand away.

It was a simple yet effective move; one he'd spent hours perfecting in the Academy. He's shocked that it works on this man, but doesn't allow the thought to linger.

When he looks up to find the man's face again, he sees a smirk.

_I'm being played with,_ he realizes with a flash of insight, _He could have easily killed me, but instead he allowed me to block him._

Again, he wonders _why_, but he doesn't voice the question this time. Instead, he tightens his knuckles around the kunai, bringing it in front of him, where he can use it to quickly react to whatever the man will try next.

"I see some fight still lives in that clan," the man comments, deep voice amused. In an instant the amusement was gone and his face is hard and stony, "But it doesn't matter. I will put an end to your disgrace of the Uchiha name."

The boy couldn't believe it—this man obviously had no idea who he was! To say that _he_ was a disgrace!

Underneath his pride and indignation, the barb cut. A part of him, that he'd been trying unsuccessfully to bury for the last three years privately agreed with the assessment. He'd done everything he could to prove himself to his clan and his parents… but it still hadn't been enough. They still felt the need to raise up another child, as though he wasn't good enough for them.

Anger—towards his parents, and the bumbling child they called his brother—bubbled up inside of him to join the anger he already felt towards this arrogant stranger.

He didn't fight it. Instead, he took advantage of the adrenaline his rage provided and turned it against the stranger. He'd show him, and everybody else who doubted him, that he was a true prodigy. He wasn't going to burn out, he'd just keep getting stronger.

He lunges forward, not waiting for an attack, striking out with his kunai and spinning around the slash aimed at him in return.

His indignation doubles as he realizes the man is still playing with him. If anything, he'd become even slower than before. It rankled the boy to be taken so lightly.

They traded attacks for a short time, neither of them hitting home, until the boy, breathing heavily, finally leaped away, taking a moment to recover his strength. Even though he could see them coming, it was hard to dodge so many fast attacks, and the man was so strong that every time he was forced to block, the weight of the attack bore down on him hard.

Panting, he looks into the stranger's face again, into those strange, cruel eyes.

As suddenly as their eyes meet, the man is no longer in front of him.

The eight-year-old doesn't have time to wonder at this sudden change in pace, because an instant later an elbow has collided with his face, causing pain to blossom and blood to pour from his nose and flood his mouth.

He gasps, but isn't given any mercy. Just as quickly as the first blow had fallen, others follow. He was still flying through the air from the elbow blow when a fist tugged on his hair, pulling him into a knee to his gut, followed up by a series of rapid punches raining down on his ribs and abdomen.

His back finally smashes into a tree, stopping his out-of-control trajectory, and the boy crumples, coughing as pain racks his body.

He couldn't think for the pain. He knew he was no longer being hit, but the sharp pains that struck him with every movement of his lungs and every beat of his heart seem to belie that truth.

Even before he could recover, strong fingers clamp around his throat and lift him from where he'd collapsed, driving him harshly back against the tree again, feet dangling helplessly at least a foot above the ground.

Fear resonates through his being, drowning out even the massive pain. He couldn't breathe and his body shook sporadically with strangled coughs that couldn't expel air past the constricting hand.

Blearily, he opens his eyes, looking up at the face looming in front of him, slightly out of focus.

The cog-like eyes spin slowly, and dark eyebrows are drawn together in a fierce scowl.

"Those eyes," the man growls—he could barely understand the words. "Those _repulsive_ eyes. What a mockery, that someone like _you_ could awaken them."

The words seem to echo around in his head, but he couldn't understand their meaning. The only thing he can understand is that he is going to die. This man is going to kill him. His parents had been right to seek to replace him.

Weakly, his hands find their own way to the man's wrist, shaking fingers clutching at it desperately. In response, the cold fingers tighten further, digging into his soft skin with bruising force.

The boy gags, certain that the man is going to crush his esophagus. Vaguely, a part of him took the time to wonder how long it would take for the Hokage to realize something very wrong had happened on their C-Rank mission. How long would it take for the villagers to find their bodies?

His vision was fading to black and the pain was slowly ebbing when he was suddenly dropped. His body made itself known again with a flash of white pain that momentarily overtakes the boy.

He wastes seconds, shuddering and gagging on the ground, coughing up a lungful of blood and gasping for the air he had been denied.

The scraping of metal against leather woke him to his surroundings again and his eyes rise, even as his chest continued to force painful coughs through his throat.

The man was holding a short sword, poised above his head, bare inches from his face. His cog-like eyes are cold and dispassionate. The boy suddenly recalls that that same sword was what had removed his teammate's arm from his shoulder, and nearly split his head from the rest of his body.

The blade rose a few inches slowly, and then flashes down towards him. He watches its arc, his hands coming up all on their own.

The boy lets out a hiss of pain as the metal slices into the sensitive palms of his hands, clapped together on either side of the thin blade, halting its movement centimeters from breaking into his head.

Somehow, he felt invigorated, like a second wave of adrenaline had hit him. His coughing had stopped.

Slowly, the boy rises, bleeding hands still clamped around the blade, pushing it up ahead of him.

The man's eyes watch him, and he watches the man's eyes. He expected to see fury or cruel amusement. Instead, he saw something like wonder.

Confusion dances before the boy's mind as he pushes the blade away from himself and jumps back, landing in a stagger with a pair of kunai in his hands again.

It hurts—the rough fabric around the handles dig painfully into the cuts on his hands—but the pain was like a fog around his legs. It was there, but he had pushed it from his mind.

"Who are you?" His voice came out rough and strangled from his abused throat, abrasive to his own ears.

The man straightens, returning his sword to his sheath. The boy doubted he needed it to kill him, anyway.

"I am the epitome of power, boy," the man states boldly, "The last great thing to come from that decrepit clan."

It took long seconds for the gears in the boy's brain to turn over this new information. "You're an Uchiha," he accuses at last. He'd suspected before—that face and those eyes—but he couldn't understand why an Uchiha was attacking another Uchiha, or anyone from Konoha at all. There was also the matter of the eyes themselves, like none he'd ever seen.

"That isn't a normal Sharingan," he adds, even though his mind reasons that finding out why he was being attacked is probably more important than the strange anomaly the man's eyes present.

"No," the man agrees.

The boy's jaw clenches. He was still fooling around with him, avoiding his questions as though they were trivial. This man, who was stronger than anyone he'd ever heard of before.

"Would you like to see how they work?" The man asks, before the injured boy could voice his indignation.

The boy doesn't respond, hands tightening around his kunai.

"It's not something I offer to many," the man says lightly, "You should feel honored."

The boy hesitates. He _was_ curious about his eyes. Was there some special ability that he could use them for?

Of course, he isn't a fool. He understood that the offer was to use whatever ability they had on him. It was more of a threat than a gift.

But… if he could learn from the experience… if he could master the power of this stranger… he'd be stronger than anyone else in the clan. They would realize it, too. His parents would realize what fools they had been in ever thinking they needed a second son.

Boldly, the boy set his face in a determined frown.

"Show me," he demands.

The man smirks and the cogs began to pick up speed, the black blurring inside the red.

A frightening sense of power emanates from him and it takes all of the boy's self control not to look away. He would learn this power, and one day he would emanate such strength, too.

Or he would die here.

There was no other choice.

Seconds pass as an eternity in the small, still clearing, the man and the boy facing each other stoically, red eyes locked with red eyes.

Abruptly, the silence is broken by the ragged, blood curdling scream that rips out of the boy's throat.

Red and black eyes continued to spin as the man watches, still smirking, until the boy collapses—first to his knees, and then dropping face first to the ground, eyes white as they roll back in his head.

His bad mood was gone in the aftermath of the confrontation, and his head was nearly buzzing with excitement.

The boy had shown a strong potential—a potential of the likes he hadn't seen since his own youth. To not only activate the Sharingan, but mature it to its second level in the space of only a few minutes, and at such a young age. He was impressed.

Calmly, the man turns his back on the bodies littered in the clearing, slowly making his way out. He'd have to keep an eye on that boy. Things could become interesting.


	2. Your Lord and God

Disclaimer: Naruto is the property of Kishimoto-sensei, of whom I am not in any way, shape, or form.

Here's the second chapter... I've reverted back to a more standard tense of story-telling... I'm still considering whether to leave the first chapter as-is or to go through the mucky work of revising it to match the rest of the story. (Any thoughts?) Hope you find it... interesting.

Meetings of Fate 2

Your Lord and God

_R. Winters_

The boy stood stoically inside a ring of trees, eyeing the towering oaks with calm black orbs. He took a deep breath and put his hands together in a seal, releasing his chakra.

The Sharingan blazed to life in his eyes, a pair of tomoe spinning into existence in both. Simultaneously, the many traps he'd set up around the clearing were triggered, and a rain of weapons sped towards him.

The boy twisted, his sharp eyes catching every movement, and managed to dodge around the first wave, catching one kunai by the ring as it whizzed past him.

Armed, the boy continued to move, jumping and rolling and spinning to avoid the worst of the blades. Occasionally he was forced to bring up his kunai in defense, knocking a shuriken he didn't have time to avoid out of the way, or altering the path of a senbon that came too close.

It was all over within thirty seconds and the boy allowed himself to rest, panting as he regained his breath.

His left hand rose and he pressed it down on his stinging arm, drawing it away again a second later to look at the blood. He still wasn't good enough.

It had been months since that incident. He'd been in the hospital for three weeks—unconscious for two of them. He'd known then that he _needed _this power. At his current strength he just wasn't good enough.

His mother had cried over him the day he finally woke up, telling him how _scared_ they'd been. His father had come to see him later that very same day, and maybe that was a sign that he had been concerned, but all he had done was nod his approval and told him to work on getting well quickly, so he could get back to work.

He _had_ been relieved that he hadn't been made to see his brother until he was released from the hospital and returned home.

But he hadn't been able to think about anything other than that _man_ and the startling difference between their strengths. He had been levels above anyone the boy knew, and he suspected he might be even stronger than the Hokage. How had the man obtained such ridiculous strength? And how could he do the same?

"I see you survived."

His eyes widened and he dove out of the clearing, ducking behind the nearest tree and scooping up as many weapons as he could effectively use at once.

His breathing was heavy and his ears echoed the drumming of his heart as his mind raced.

What was _he_ doing here? Inside of Konoha's guard? Had he been admitted? Was he some friend of Konoha?

He couldn't believe that, but the man was certainly strong enough to force an entry. Why?

"Uchiha Itachi."

The boy's head snapped up, eyes wide with fear as he saw the man crouching on the trunk of the tree only a short distance from him, looking down with a faint, amused smile.

"How do you know my name?" He blurted out, even though there were a hundred other things he should have been more concerned with at the moment.

"I know more than that," the man stated calmly, "I know you spent two weeks in a coma after our last meeting… Your father is the current clan head… You graduated first in your class last year… And, most interestingly, you have a younger brother."

Itachi knew he should be disturbed by the extent of this man's knowledge—had he been _studying_ him? Instead, all he could feel was irritation at the man's last comment, "What's so interesting about _him_?"

The man let out a breathy chuckle and disengaged from the tree, flipping once before landing in front of the eight-year-old. Itachi tensed at the movement, clutching his weapons more tightly, muscles taut.

"It depends, I suppose," the man said calmly, ignoring the boy's excitable state, "If he can be made to rise to your level." He leaned closer, a wicked grin across his lips as he added, in a low voice, "Then you could be made to have eyes like mine."

Itachi's eyes widened in surprise at the announcement and he forgot to be on guard, mind working furiously to come up with the connection. What did his brother have to do with his eyes? And how could he obtain those eyes?

"You do want them, don't you?" The man prompted, voice still quiet, "Eyes like mine… They intrigue you."

The boy couldn't deny it, but he wasn't going to beg the man for an answer or anything. He drew away from the man, the effect ruined when he ended up pressing into the tree behind him. Itachi forced back a flush of embarrassment and decided to ignore the humiliating action, raising his voice in a demand, "Tell me how to achieve those eyes."

Whatever he was expecting, it wasn't the slap he received. The eight-year-old didn't even see the man move, he simply found himself on the ground again, his left cheek throbbing with pain.

Slowly, he pushed himself up, breathing through his nose because it hurt to move his jaw. Tears stung at his eyes and when he tried to blink them away he noticed a pair of sandaled feet come to a stop in front of him.

His arms shook slightly as he raised his head, looking up at the man towering over him.

The man scowled down at him, his face a mask of contempt and disgust. Itachi wished that he could disappear; melt into the ground or blow away as dust in the wind. Instead he was forced to endure the glare. He lowered his eyes again to make it a little more bearable.

"Ungrateful brat," the man spat harshly, "I tolerated your disrespect once before, but don't expect me to do it again. Surely you have _some_ good manners in you; strive to show that to me when you speak, and pray that I'll overlook the audacity of a weakling like you presuming to address me at all."

The man crouched, reaching a hand down to force the boy's head up—Itachi hissed as a spike of pain shot through his nerves when the man gripped his cheeks roughly.

"Compared to a pathetic child like you, I am a _god_," the man intoned gravely, that strange Sharingan burning in his eyes, "You should consider yourself extremely fortunate that someone such as myself is even wasting the time to _look_ at such an unworthy fool like yourself."

He dropped Itachi's jaw and stood, leaving the boy to hang his head again, blinking away a fresh gathering of tears.

Silence reigned for several minutes until the eight-year-old finally found the courage to stand. He stared at the man warily, understanding his place in the world a little better. He was like a toy to this man; little more than a curiosity that he might tire of at any time and toss aside. But it was obvious that without his knowledge, he would never reach his full potential. He had to do what he could to keep the man's interest.

Choosing his words carefully, Itachi allowed his fear of the man to leak into his voice, hoping it would convey the proper attitude, "O-jiisama…" He barely made it through the word, wincing and raising a hand to his injured jaw as pain spiked through it. He glanced up, saw that the man was watching him, and forced himself to continue, "What… what would you… have me call you?"

The man watched a moment longer, face blank. At last, he answered, "My name is Madara."

"Then… Madara-sama," the boy forced out, "Please… share with me the secret of your power…" He bowed his head, more to hide his pained expression than to show respect, although he realized it conveyed the proper spirit after he'd done it. He couldn't believe how much it hurt, just to talk, but he knew his jaw must be broken.

The man was silent for such a long time that Itachi looked up again. He was smirking as he looked down at the eight-year-old, eyes considering, and at last he gave his answer.

"I will not share my power with just anyone," he informed the boy, "Show me the extent of your strength and desire, and I will speak to you again."

Before Itachi could even blink, the man was already gone.

The boy let out another hiss of pain, his hand immediately shooting up to cradle his red cheek. His shoulders shook in suppressed sobs as the adrenaline drained out of his body, the aching in his cheek increasing with every second.

In an attempt to force the pain from his mind, the boy dropped his hand to his arm instead, his fingers digging into his shirt sleeve and pressing against the flesh underneath with enough pressure to bruise. It helped restore his state of mind a little and he slowly gathered the weapons he'd used for training, returning them to the bags he'd brought, his aching jaw making the job miserable.

Once he was done he headed back to the Uchiha Estate—he needed to return his father's equipment before he could go to the hospital.

As he walked he considered Madara's demand. He didn't like the dangerous tone the man had presented it in. It implied all sorts of unpleasant things to his young mind. But at the same time, he needed that power. He could never allow himself to be bested like that again.

That technique… Itachi shuddered at the memory of it. It was a hazy memory, but painful enough that he had an idea how horrible it must have been. The medics had been surprised that he'd woken at all.

He didn't want to be a worthless child for the rest of his life. He wanted to become powerful. To become the god that Madara presented himself as.

Still, it was a blow to his pride to know that he needed to learn this power from Madara. His fists clenched on the leather straps they held as the bloodied bodies of his teammates flashed in his mind's eye.

Madara… that monster had killed them all so easily. He respected—feared—his power, but the way that he used it…

Glancing up, Itachi saw that he'd reached the complex. He'd return the bags and go to the hospital for now. He could decide what to do about Madara later.

He made his way through the small streets quickly, keeping his head ducked down and evasively waving at the greetings called out to him by various doting family members. He wondered, with a flash of bitterness, if they greeted his brother the same way, when the pathetic boy stumbled along on their mother's skirts. Did they, too, believe he was weak—that there needed to be an alternate in case he stumbled?

Shoving the thoughts forcefully from his mind, Itachi quickly let himself into his father's shed, stowing the extra equipment exactly where he'd gotten it from, then turned to leave.

"Aniki!" A childish voice squealed happily, and Itachi's face went blank, staring down at his replacement coldly.

The tiny three-year-old didn't seem to notice his dislike, moving towards him with the uneven gait of a young child.

Madara's words echoed in his mind and a small frown tugged at Itachi's lips. Did he really need this pathetic little person to reach Madara's level? It was laughable to think the boy would ever come close to his strength.

Still, it was the only information he'd managed to obtain pertaining to that ability, and he would be a fool to dismiss it so easily.

"Sasuke!"

Itachi glanced up as his mother's voice echoed from around the corner, obviously in pursuit of the small runaway. The older boy measured his options quickly in his mind, weighing his own dislike of the boy against Madara's words.

Coming to his decision, Itachi stooped, scooping his younger brother up in his arms. The little boy laughed in delight.

Itachi shifted the boy awkwardly until he'd found a good position and leaned in, whispering into the boy's ear, "You will be the key to my strength, Sasuke-kun, so chase after me." The pain throbbing from his jaw as he spoke added an extra layer of meaning to his words—he would remember this pain, and the words Madara had said to him.

Large black eyes looked up at him in confusion, but their mother chose that moment to arrive, a relieved smile on her tired face.

"Oh, Itachi, you found him," she said gratefully, holding her arms out.

Itachi obeyed the unspoken request, passing the three-year-old to her waiting arms.

"Are you done training for the day?" The woman asked, turning to lead the way back into the house before abruptly stopping and looking back at him again. Her cheerful countenance quickly morphed into a frown of concern and she approached her eldest son swiftly, juggling Sasuke out of the way so she had one hand free.

"Itachi! What happened to your face?" She reached towards the angry red mark on his left cheek, but kept back from touching it.

The boy's cheek suddenly flared with pain, as though reminding the eight-year-old of its presence.

"An… accident during training," he murmured. It hurt less if he didn't move his mouth too much, "I was heading over to the hospital now."

"Do you want us to come with you?" The concerned mother asked anxiously.

Itachi looked from her face to Sasuke's and shook his head, "I'll be fine."

"Have a message sent if you're going to miss dinner, okay?" The woman requested as the child in her arms squirmed.

The boy gave a slight nod before passing her by, thoughts returning once again to the man who had given him his bruise so effortlessly. His blood still boiled at the memory of it. He'd been backhanded like a spoiled child—he'd been acting like one, too, which made it even worse.

He didn't even know who Madara was. Had there really been someone that strong out of the Uchiha clan? If there was, there must be some record of him. Itachi resolved to find that record and discover what he could of the man and his ability before they met again.


	3. The Demon King

Disclaimer: If I owned Naruto, there would be more death and angst... which might really be saying something in light of Shippuden. I don't own Naruto.

Here's the next chapter. I finally broke down and gave chapter titles out. It's a little shorter than the others, but I liked ending it here. A note about the Uchiha brothers' relationship: it's not really unusual for an only child to show resentment towards a younger brother or sister suddenly appearing, especially if the parents don't do a lot to prepare the child for the baby. So Itachi's feelings for Sasuke aren't really unexpected, and his parents probably would have noticed (at least to a point), and would have expected it to be a phase he would grow out of.

Karyuu Endan (Fire Dragon Flame Projectile) is similar to the Goukakyuu no Jutsu (Great Fireball Technique), only it's more of a jet of fire than a ball... The Sandaime used this once.

Hope you like it...

Meetings of Fate 3

Lord of Demons

_R. Winters_

It was hardly worth his time.

The ten-year-old appeared behind his opponent in a heartbeat, delivering another solid hit to the older boy's back.

He should have been promoted last year—or even the year before that.

Itachi was already there to meet him when he neared the bottom of his arc, putting a whole spread of kunai and shuriken into the other boy's body. The fourteen-year-old disappeared in a cloud of smoke, replaced by a badly abused log.

The Uchiha's eyes had seen, though, even before he delivered the attack, and he had already turned to face the boy's hiding spot near the edges of the arena.

It was a pointless waste of his chakra and energy.

**Katon: Karyuu Endan!**

He saw the widening of the teen's eyes as a stream of fire shot towards him from both sides—clones the other boy probably hadn't even remembered existed carrying out the attack while he had his attention focused on the real Itachi.

The boy's scream cut through the arena and Itachi watched coldly, reveling in the power he held over the older boy, in the fear and pain he could inflict in someone who had thought themselves his better only ten minutes earlier.

The stream of fire ended as his clones puffed out of existence, having expended the chakra he'd given them. The scream tapered out and the boy collapsed forward onto the ground, his clothing still smoldering.

Itachi's enjoyment of the situation abruptly left him as he realized he'd hit his mark a little too well.

It had been a complete _waste_.

The other Genin was hardly worth the time of day, let alone Itachi's concentrated attention for the six minutes and thirty-eight seconds he'd given it. To be backed into a trap like that so easily—it was pathetic, a rookie mistake at best.

He watched coldly, hardly listening as the Chuunin proctor announced his name as the winner. A handful of medical ninja hustled onto the field to offer assistance to the pathetic lump of flesh.

He hadn't even broken a sweat.

An unexplainable desire to completely crush the other boy—kill him and destroy him until there was nothing left—suddenly overcame the ten-year-old, for the bare reason that he _could_ and it would be so _easy_. He wondered if this was how Madara felt as he ripped apart his team in a matter of seconds.

Itachi forced himself to turn away. It would be _too_ easy. More pointless energy wasted on something that didn't warrant his time.

He walked calmly from the arena, disillusioned. Wasn't there anyone here that could challenge him? Someone he could feel good about destroying?

It had been two years since he'd lost his first Genin team—two years since he'd met _that man_.

He'd done everything he could in the intervening time to gain power, and he'd risen from his old level by leaps and bounds.

The C-ranked missions the Hokage often assigned his team seemed dull and pointless and Itachi thought he might have forgotten how to fear for his life. It had been a long time since he'd felt anything other than disgust and frustration.

He needed a challenge.

"Aniki!"

It took the ten-year-old a second to realize he'd stopped walking at some point, standing alone in the middle of a hallway somewhere inside the arena seating. Sasuke was running towards him, a wide smile on his face, with his parents following more sedately some distance off.

The five-year-old stopped in front of him, looking up with eager, dancing black eyes, "You were awesome out there, aniki!"

"… I was simply above his level," Itachi muttered in reply.

The little boy grinned, "You're _so_ cool, aniki!"

"Sasuke, stop pestering your brother," the boy's mother chastised gently, smiling at her two sons, "Itachi must be tired from his match, and it's time for you to go home, remember?"

Sasuke turned pouting eyes towards the woman, "Aw—kaasan, do I have to?"

"That was the deal," she confirmed, "You got to see your brother, so now it's time to go." She herded the whining boy in front of her and shot a smile back at her older son, "You did well out there, Itachi, I'm sure you'll be a Chuunin soon."

Itachi nodded his thanks at the compliment, watching them go for a moment before turning his eyes to his father, who was standing silently in front of him, still.

"… As expected, you did well this year," the man stated at last, "The Hokage is a fool if he doesn't promote you."

"Arigatou, otousan," Itachi murmured, bowing slightly in acknowledgement. A tiny smile flitted onto his lips—they were finally beginning to see his worth. His father was beginning to realize what a waste Sasuke was, after all.

The irony of it was that Sasuke wasn't really a waste at all, but a precious commodity—the thing he needed to reach his full potential. He realized it now, even though nobody else did.

He was startled out of his thoughts as a hand suddenly came down on his shoulder. Black eyes snapped back to his father, who was smiling grimly as he clapped the boy on the shoulder, turning away a second later.

"We'll see you back at the house," he stated, walking away as his son was still coming to terms with the unexpected display of affection.

At least a minute passed before Itachi forced himself to move again, his thoughts, unexpectedly, revolving around his younger brother and the greatness he would achieve.

The approval of his father was a great accomplishment, but the man would be so much more pleased when he showed him how he surpassed even the great names of the past. It was something Itachi knew he would and could do, with his younger brother's help.

He would become greater than his father, far greater than his current sensei, greater even than the Hokage. He would surpass even Madara, in the end, and he'd kill the man who had made him fear for the first and last time as a child.

"You were really ready to kill him. I could see the blood lust in your eyes."

Itachi allowed himself to take one more echoing step before he ground to a halt, arms relaxed by his sides and gaze not even flicking back to the man.

Speak of the devil and he shall come.

The thrill of fear he'd felt as a child upon hearing that voice was sluggish now. He was rising in ability quickly, it wouldn't be long until even Madara fell prostrate before him.

A slight smile pricked at the boy's lips—he'd teach even this "god" to fear one day. Until then he'd play the worthless servant, fulfilling his expected role with respect and humility.

"He was below me," he said simply. Slowly, he turned, easily locating the smirking man leaning against the wall some distance behind him. "Have I grown, Madara-sama?"

The man ignored his question, although his smile twitched a fraction wider, "Why did you let him live, Itachi?" He asked, instead.

The ten-year-old shrugged, "He didn't deserve to die."

Madara raised an eyebrow, "The weak always deserve death, Itachi. Mercy isn't a trait that suits those meant to be powerful."

Itachi wondered if the man was really so daft as to believe that. If he was, it would be easier to overcome him than he thought.

"You misunderstand, Madara-sama," he murmured, careful to keep his tone respectful in the light of his correction. The man's eyes hardened slightly but he continued, "He was below my notice—it would have been worthless for me to kill someone as weak as him. Let the weak kill the weak and the strong focus on the strong."

The man was silent for long enough that Itachi began to question his own logic. Then Madara laughed. Itachi was disturbed to find that the sound was almost pleasant—years before he recalled the same sound causing him to cringe.

"You have grown, boy," the man finally allowed, pushing off the wall and strolling towards him slowly, "You've become arrogant."

Madara stopped when they were barely a pace apart. Itachi was forced to crane his neck back to look at his face, annoyed that he was still so much shorter than the man.

Then he reached out, and Itachi saw a flash of light glistening off metal just before the hand clapped onto his shoulder, fingers gripping tightly in a cruel mockery of the affectionate gesture his father had given him only minutes earlier. Madara's grip meant nothing of the kind, however, and Itachi's eyes widened in alarm as he felt his chakra draining out of him.

He grabbed the man's wrist with his opposite hand, feeling chakra drain through that palm as well the moment it made contact, and tried to force it away, but Madara's hand remained solidly gripped as though it were made of stone rather than malleable flesh.

Itachi pulled his hand away again with some effort and reached for his kunai.

"Stop," the single syllable rang with power and made the boy pause and glance up, finding himself meeting the man's red eyes again.

Those cog-like eyes stared down at him indifferently and Itachi stared back, unable to help himself. The ten-year-old found himself growing light-headed—unsure whether it was from chakra exhaustion or hypnosis—and wondered idly what sort of eyes he would develop when the time came.

The man pulled away and, as though the spell were broken, Itachi stumbled weakly, mentally cursing himself for slipping up again. He should know by now that this man would exploit his every weakness.

"Kill your next opponent," Madara ordered, turning away. "And meet me at midnight, in the training grounds," he added as he began to walk.

"I know about your eyes," Itachi blurted abruptly, one hand on the wall to help him balance on his rubbery legs.

Madara stilled but didn't turn around.

"The Mangekyou Sharingan," Itachi supplied, feeling a thrill of pleasure at having surprised his "god." He'd done his share of studying over the last couple of years, and he'd learned a thing or two along the way.

The man showed no other reaction.

Itachi plowed on, "It was first developed by Uchiha Madara," he added, "Who became the leader of our clan until the Shodai Hokage banished him from the village. For a god, you were defeated easily."

A dry laugh issued from the man, "If I am a god, than the Shodai was the lord of demons. Don't think too highly of yourself, boy—you might be able to reach my level, though I doubt it, but someone like the Shodai is beyond your ability to understand."

He started to walk again, "Kill the boy and find me tonight," he repeated before disappearing around the bend.

Itachi frowned after him. He had studied both, of course—the Uchiha clan's own unstoppable monster and Konoha's First Hokage. The power of the Shodai was something completely foreign, something Itachi knew he would never be able to emulate.

That didn't mean he couldn't surpass Madara, though, and surpass the First in his own way.

He turned around and headed back to the contestant balcony again, his knees shaking slightly as he walked.

Slowly, a smile crossed the boy's lips. Madara wanted him to kill even in a condition like this when he could barely stand. At least it would be challenging.

He would follow Madara's orders for now because he still had a long way to go.


	4. Your Truth

Disclaimer: Despite my growing familiarity with the Japanese language, I'm still not quite able to pass as a native Japanese man. It's only a matter of time before I take your place Kishimoto--only a matter of time... (I don't own Naruto.)

Sorry about the lack of update last week. I was traumatized. I'm pretty much over it now. There will be one, maybe two chapters after this one--I'm still deliberating on the latter. For no, here's more fun with Itachi and Madara, hope you like it!

Meetings of Fate 4

Your Truth

_R. Winters_

Sweat beaded on the boy's forehead as he struggled to see through the Genjutsu he knew he was trapped in. He raised his arms to block a punch as a figure lunged at him from the trees. The man disappeared just after he made contact, leaving a soreness in the boy's arms from the force of the impact.

Everything was so impossibly real that Itachi could barely believe it really _was_ a Genjutsu. Logically, he knew that it was, and his Sharingan worked frantically to see through it. But it _felt_ real and all his senses screamed at him to _focus_ because Madara would kill him if he didn't.

He barely got a kunai up in time to block the attack that swung down at him out of nowhere. Instead of disappearing, this time the aggressor remained, pressing his attack with lightning quick strikes that Itachi had to concentrate on completely to block and avoid.

"You're too slow," a familiar voice taunted from behind a faceless mask. Itachi's eyes widened in surprise and a split-second of distraction allowed his opponent to draw a line of blood from his collar.

He renewed his efforts at escaping the Genjutsu because there was no way that _that_ person was really here, fighting him. It had to be Madara messing with him again.

"Too weak," the figure added as it struck with its katana again. Itachi blocked, but the man was stronger, pushing their interlocked blades back towards the boy's face. Itachi broke away, throwing himself back, but the other man was already there to meet him.

He was _fast_, Itachi allowed as he blocked, parried, and avoided a quick succession of attacks that granted him little time to think and even less to act. The man's fighting style was identical to _his_, but all that meant was that Madara was spying on his friends as efficiently as he spied on Itachi, himself.

"Too naïve," the figure finished, thrusting forward in a blur that the twelve-year-old couldn't possibly counter despite seeing it coming. Pain exploded in his abdomen as the sword burst through his flesh, blood dripping out from around it. When Itachi looked up again the face was _his_, red eyes gleaming and mouth quirked in a familiarly arrogant smirk.

"Pathetic," and while the lips belonged to _him_, the voice was Madara's, mockingly light-hearted and condescending. He might have been patronizing a child who had just demonstrated how he could _almost_ hit the target with his kunai, rather than destroying the bowels of his only student.

Itachi forced his sluggish arms to respond, ignoring the disturbing sensation of liquid—it had to be blood—dripping from his lips and the ripples of pain that spread throughout his entire body with each breath he took. His hands moved sluggishly as he forced his stiff fingers to curl around the shaft of the blade in front of him.

"Nngh!" He grunted with effort as he pushed, expelling the sword from his belly. At the same time he focused one last effort on his eyes, stumbling backwards with his hands automatically moving to clasp his stomach—a futile effort to stem the now heavy flow of blood. Suddenly, the mirage snapped back to reality and the blood disappeared.

Itachi looked up. The smirking face in front of him was Madara, and his eyes shone with the cog-like wheels of his Mangekyou. The moon was a bright silver over head, shining down into their clearing.

Slowly, the boy drew his hands away from the phantom wound in his abdomen—even though he knew it hadn't been real, it still ached with imagined pain. He ran the back of his left hand across his mouth, where blood really did stain his lips from when he'd bit his tongue. 

"Not bad, Itachi," Madara allowed, still smirking at the dazed, exhausted pre-teen.

"You made a mistake using Shisui," Itachi commented with a painful smirk of his own, "I know he would never try to kill me."

One of the man's dark eyebrows rose beyond his choppy bangs, "Wouldn't he?" His expression twisted into a displeased scowl, "You're a fool if you're still stupid enough to believe in meaningless things like _friendship_ and _love_. Shisui resents you, I've seen it in him. He'll try to kill you if you let him."

Itachi scowled but didn't respond. It was pointless arguing with Madara over things like this. The man was entirely stubborn and firmly believed that he was the ultimate source of all truth.

"The only reason people form relationships is to use each other," Itachi quoted back to the man what he'd said the last time he'd found a little time to teach his supposed student. There was a certain amount of truth in it, he supposed.

A slow smile reappeared on the man's lips—he was too easy to please, the boy thought. "Once Shisui realizes you're too strong for him to use, he'll try to get rid of you so you can't use him," Madara added.

"By then it would be too late," Itachi excused, "Shisui trusts me."

"Hmm," it was a soft, breathy sound that seemed to convey the man's disbelief better than any words could have.

Itachi remained silent—trying to defend his beliefs was a worse waste of breath than anything else he could do. It was best to let Madara think he'd won. And maybe he had.

"Do you know how I first awakened the Mangekyou?" Madara asked casually, changing the subject completely.

Itachi frowned and didn't answer. It had been two years since the man had started to train him. For two years he'd been promising answers and not delivering, and for two years Itachi had had to put up with the ego of a man—"_god_"—who could do no wrong.

It was true that he had learned a lot in that time. He had become stronger in ways that his father and all the teachers in Konoha could never have made him, but he still didn't know any more about the Mangekyou, or the god-like powers that set Madara so far above people like him.

He was patient because he didn't have a choice.

"I killed a woman," Madara supplied. He was walking and Itachi mechanically fell in step with him, listening intently.

"Her name was Katsumi," the man continued, "And I was enamored with her as a youth. She loved me back—or seemed to. There was no one in the world I trusted more than her, not even my younger brother."

Itachi snorted softly to himself—what a kind of love that drove one person to kill another. Despite himself, he was curious. How could such an act create the unstoppable power of the Mangekyou Sharingan? 

"It was out of love that I killed her," Madara said seriously, "And… out of hate."

The twelve-year-old scoffed, "How can you love and hate someone at the same time?"

The man grinned—obviously, he had been waiting for this question. "It's easier than you think."

"The Sharingan is based on emotions. Fear activates the first stage," Madara explained casually, "And anger the second. Hatred strong enough to murder is what fuels the third stage, and this peculiar mixture of hatred and love that creates the Mangekyou."

Itachi frowned thoughtfully, "I thought you said I needed Sasuke to reach the final evolution of the Sharingan. I don't love him." He was a little disturbed when he realized he no longer hated him, either.

Madara laughed, "I said you need your brother to obtain the same eyes as me. Mine are not the eyes of a regular Mangekyou—they've grown beyond even that. Do you want to know what emotion is needed to alter them to this stage?"

Itachi didn't respond until it became obvious that Madara was waiting for an answer. At last, he relented, "Yes, Madara-sama."

"Love," Madara grinned, "But not just any love—the strongest love one can possibly have for oneself, a willingness to sacrifice anything and everything to continue to live."

Itachi still didn't understand what that had to do with Sasuke.

"It will be a long time before you reach that step," Madara excused, back tracking, "There is only one way to reach the Mangekyou." And Itachi started paying closer attention again.

Madara paused, and for a moment the boy thought he was going to make him ask, but just as he wet his lips to speak, the man continued. "You must kill the person closest to you," Madara supplied, "There is no other way, Itachi."

Itachi frowned.

"For me, it was Katsumi, the woman I loved," although at the time she had been little more than a girl, and it hadn't been until afterwards that he realized what she'd given him. He smiled—he would always be grateful to his beloved Katsumi for that gift. "For you…" He trailed off.

The face came to Itachi's mind easily enough, but he quickly dispelled it, searching for a more logical answer. Who was the closest person to him? Maybe his mother or father—or one of his teammates.

"Hate him," Madara encouraged, "Hate Shisui for making you love him."

Itachi scowled, "I don't love him," he argued, "He's my cousin—my friend."

"Love comes in more than one form," Madara excused. He stopped—Itachi had almost forgotten they'd been walking, and it took an extra second for the command from his brain to reach his legs.

Madara looked down at the boy, dark eyes gleaming thoughtfully, "I can't make you do anything, Itachi. This is the end of my teaching. The next time we meet, I will no longer be your caring teacher. The next time we meet, I might kill you."

To Itachi, it didn't seem like much of a change. Every time they'd met over the years he'd been afraid for his life, never entirely sure if Madara was going to let him live through the next morning. He'd grown more tolerant of this fear over the years, and had learned how to conceal it in the depths of his unconscious, but it was always there, under the surface.

"Consider it a test," Madara said, "Are you worthy to carry _my_ name, _Uchiha_ Itachi?"

The man was gone before Itachi could even think of answering, and the boy found himself on the edge of the Uchiha grounds. He stood still for several minutes, thinking about the man's last words to him and everything he'd learned.

Madara was insane. Itachi had known it all along, but now he was beginning to understand why. Maybe there was another way—some way that didn't involve killing Shisui. If there was, Itachi swore, he'd find it. If there wasn't…

Silently, the boy moved forward again, picking his way through dark streets until he came to his home.

He silently slipped his shoes off at the door and stepped inside, making his way through the foyer towards the hall that would lead to his bedroom.

"Itachi," a voice called.

The twelve-year-old froze and looked through the dark doorway into the dining room, where his father sat at the table, a severe frown on his face.

Silently, Itachi turned and padded into the room, stopping in front of the table.

Wordlessly, the man held a scroll towards him.

Itachi accepted it, glancing at the unusual colors marking it before he opened it. He couldn't even be shocked at the words he read.

"Congratulations," his father's voice distracted his attention again and Itachi looked up to see something like a smile on the man's face.

Itachi wasn't sure what to say, looking down at the scroll again. It was an honor, certainly, but he had enough on his mind not to be thinking about things like this. Or maybe the distraction would do him good.

"Itachi," his father said again, and when he looked up the man continued, "Go to bed. You look like you need the rest."

"… Yes, o-tousan," Itachi agreed after a long moment. He folded the scroll again and tucked it under his arm, continuing on his way to his room.

That night Itachi dreamed that he was fighting his cousin. This time it was him wearing the faceless mask, and Itachi was the one to thrust his katana into his friend, laughing with the voice of his mentor.


	5. Vengeful Demon

Disclaimer: I don't own Naruto, but hopefully I'll own a new car by the end of the week.

Thanks to everyone who reviewed (sorry I haven't had a chance to reply to reviews yet)! This'll be the last chapter, so I hope you like it!

Meetings of Fate 5

Vengeful Demon

_R. Winters_

Itachi breathed heavily, his vision narrowed in on the river before him; the soaked back of his best friend. His eyes ached and his mind reeled. His limbs felt heavy and tired, his fingers numb from the cold.

It was hard to believe what he'd done—that he'd gone through with _that_. Half a year ago he'd sworn he wouldn't, but the idea had… grown on him.

He'd been planning the perfect murder for months, never really believing he'd go through with it. Even as he set things up—secretly arranging a meeting with Shisui and carefully crafting an alibi with his ANBU missions—he still hadn't thought he'd really do it.

He'd told Shisui of his plans to murder him less than an hour ago and they'd both laughed, knowing he wouldn't do it. But Itachi had seen something in the older boy's eyes and had come to the startling realization that his cousin wasn't as certain as he pretended. There was a hint of fear and wariness in his Shisui's dark eyes.

It infuriated Itachi.

He trusted his cousin with nearly everything, far more than he trusted with anyone else. When he'd started doubting his own humanity, after finding himself largely unaffected by the dirty business of his new ANBU duty, he'd gone to Shisui. When he'd had dreams of strangling Sasuke in his sleep, he'd talked to Shisui. He trusted Shisui with his life, and let him glimpse some of the darkness inside of him… Foolishly, he'd thought Shisui trusted him back.

"Shisui… you know I'm not really going to kill you," he'd said, unable to believe what his eyes were showing him. Unable to believe that his dearest cousin really thought so low of him.

The older boy had cracked a smile that looked awkward even to Itachi and agreed with a false lightness, "Of course, Itachi." His smile faded, "I know that."

Shisui was a good liar, but Itachi saw through it. How could he doubt him? Itachi had always defended him—even in front of Madara! How could Shisui repay all that with this distrust?

And Itachi had attacked because in that moment he hated Shisui as much as he loved him. He hated his best friend who didn't love him as much as _he_ loved _him_.

It hadn't been easy. Shisui had been ready for it. Shisui had _expected_ it! But Itachi had risen above him like he knew he would, worn him down and destroyed him with his own hands.

Now he was dead and Itachi stood over his body, the burning in his eyes painful.

Maybe Shisui had known him better, after all. He must have known about his meetings with Madara—or suspected at the one thing Itachi had never told him. He understood Itachi better than Itachi understood himself.

Maybe Shisui had trusted him more than Itachi knew. To have come out with him like this, alone and while all the others were occupied, when he knew that he'd only be murdered.

Itachi stared numbly at the older boy's soaked back.

And then, finally, he turned his back on him. On the boy he'd called "friend" since he was old enough to know what the word meant.

* * *

His eyes continued to ache and throb for the next several days. Sometimes his vision became fuzzy, and other times it would go completely dark. The pain might have made him a tad bit shorter with his brother than usual, but he doubted the change in behavior was noted. Until, at last, he was confronted for his crime.

The whole clan was turning against him, Itachi realized. Everyone seemed to believe it was _his_ fault Shisui was dead. Even his father seemed to harbor doubts, despite his pronounced support. He wanted to scream

It wasn't _his _fault! Shisui had killed himself when he'd dare to turn away from him, when he'd betrayed their long friendship!

It was suicide, just like the note he'd written claimed.

But they wouldn't believe him, just like Shisui hadn't believed that the murder was a joke, a game to see if he could really pull it off. And all of a sudden, his vision was perfectly clear.

He saw everything in that moment. The past, present, and future. The clan's bloody roots and its inevitable decay, his own part in everything as the strongest Uchiha in generations.

It made him sick. But at the same time, he was content. He was strong enough now that he didn't have to play along with the clan or 'destiny' or anything else. He could leave the clan to rot on its own.

The events between the confrontation with his family and Madara's arrival seemed to blur together in a confusing sea of time that didn't seem real.

"Are you strong enough?" He was standing in the forest behind the complex with his one-time teacher, the man as haughty as ever.

Instead of answering, Itachi allowed his eyes to shift into their more advanced state. The world was clearer than he'd ever before imagined it could be.

Madara grinned and his red eyes seemed to glitter with malice, "But are you strong enough? To defy the whole clan?"

"The Uchiha clan is weak," Itachi said with the arrogance of youth and the vision his newly afforded eyes gave to him. Of course he was stronger than them.

"But how do you know you're strong enough to deny even destiny?" The man goaded darkly.

Again, Itachi didn't answer. He was Uchiha Itachi. He had surpassed his childhood rival and gained the power that even his father feared. It was preposterous to think he might not be powerful enough for this.

And then Madara was moving, attacking, only he wasn't at all until half a second later and Itachi was ready because he'd seen it coming.

He slashed through the man's neck and disappeared an instant later as a blade pierced the soft flesh of his own neck.

The two ninja faced off again, their movements and reactions impossibly fast as each saw what the other was going to do before he even thought of doing it.

For the first time since he'd met the man, Itachi felt like he had a chance of winning. Madara wasn't a god and his powers won't impossible to comprehend. Itachi had powers of his own now.

It seemed like he was gaining the upper hand, even. Madara was good, but he was getting old, Itachi knew. He was getting _very_ old, a part of a previous generation that was dead except for himself, and Itachi was still well within the peak of his existence.

So when the opportunity came, Itachi was able to take it, and plunged his sword into the man's face. Blood sprouted from the wound and Madara's eyes reflected his surprise.

Itachi felt a thrill at his own power. He'd finally done it, he'd surpassed even the legendary Uchiha Madara's power. He'd done the impossible and killed a 'god.'

But then something his eye hadn't predicted happened. Madara's lips curved upwards in a cruel smirk and Itachi found he couldn't move and it was Madara whose sword had skewered him. He pain washed over Itachi like a flood and he would have fallen if his legs were still under control. Instead all he could do was stand there, letting the pain wash over him and staring into Madara's mocking eye.

"Foolish boy," the man laughed, "Did you really think a novice Mangekyou could defeat one that has been developing for a hundred years?"

The man leaned close until his lips were just brushing against Itachi's ear and the boy could do nothing but stand frozen as his ancestor's breath wafted across him. "If you cannot even defeat me.. what makes you think you are any match for the clan…? You are still so weak—I should kill you here."

He could do it, Itachi knew, just as he had killed Shisui, Madara could kill him. But he wasn't a little boy anymore, and he wouldn't resign himself to his death.

"I'm stronger than the clan," he defied.

"How do you know?" Madara pressed. He laughed and added, "How do you know you're stronger than anybody."

"I'm stronger than Shisui," Itachi pointed out. He'd risen above him and destroyed him like a vengeful spirit.

"You killed Shisui," Madara agreed.

Itachi didn't respond because the reply was self-evident. Of course he killed Shisui—who else could have? He was Itachi's friend, so it fell to him to kill him.

"I could kill anyone in the clan," Itachi said with a sudden realization.

"Naturally," Madara said as though such a task would be easy—and it would be for people like them. The man grinned, eyes intent, and added, "But… could you kill them all?"

Itachi's eyes widened briefly.

Madara's grin widened maliciously, "Could you kill all of them together?" He reiterated, "Only then would you know, without question, that you are strong enough to overcome the Uchiha… to break free of your destiny."

It was crazy. As crazy as the idea of him killing Shisui. But he had killed Shisui, and the idea didn't sound so strange anymore.

He _could_ kill them. The whole clan in one go. He was _that_ strong. Strong enough to defy the Uchiha. Strong enough to choose for himself how to live.

It would be exhilarating, like his fight with Shisui had been. More importantly, he would _know_.

"There's… more than a hundred Uchiha," Itachi said. And most of them were skilled shinobi.

"Are you afraid?" Madara asked, "If you fail, whoever is left will kill you."

Of course he wasn't afraid. Itachi wasn't afraid of anything, anymore. Not even of Madara, who held his life in his hands.

"I'll kill them," he said, wondering if he really would.

As the words left his mouth the sword in his face vanished and the pain dissipated. Madara was gone and Itachi found himself alone in the dark clearing near to the Uchiha estate.

He turned towards the complex and felt amazingly calm, because Shisui had made him strong and he would see just how strong he had become.

* * *

The opportune time came one week later, on the eve of the founding day celebration when all of the Uchiha were at home—most of them, at any rate.

He found he didn't even need Madara to tell him what to do. His actions seemed obvious and natural, and he even understood about the higher power that Madara had—about the part his brother had to play.

Miles outside the village he came to a stop in front of a cave. He wasn't sure exactly how he reached it—the path had seemed clear before his eyes.

A man waited there for him. Itachi didn't recognize him at first, but he felt the man's chakra and knew immediately who it was.

"What's with the look?" He asked—he wouldn't have cared if it was anyone else.

There was no outward sign of the man's response—his entire face was obscured by a mask, and his body language gave away nothing. But there was amusement in his voice as he replied, "It's a new game, Itachi."

"What game?" Itachi asked, although he didn't particularly care. He'd done his part, his was a game of waiting now, until Sasuke would bring him what he needed to reach completion.

"You'll see," the man replied evasively, "Do you want to play?"

He didn't, but said nothing.

"There's a prize," the man said temptingly, "Strength above even that of the Shodai."

Itachi wasn't as tempted as he would have been a month ago, but he did need something to pass the time.

"You know where to go," the man said, apparently reading the decision in the teen.

"Madara," Itachi said with a nod, turning to go—he said it only to emphasize the fact that he could. Madara was no longer his master.

The man did not seem perturbed. He sounded amused, more than anything, "Call me Tobi."

Itachi didn't glance back.


End file.
